Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [92]
“Don’t be ridiculous, Father,” she said in an imperious tone which indicated she was accustomed to being obeyed. She clasped my hand and dabbed at the wound with the handkerchief, wiping off the blood and dirt.
“We will send for the Theldara when our meeting is concluded and we are safe within the walls of the city,” she continued.
Her touch was gentle, so as not to give me pain. But her touch did give me pain, a pain that was not of the flesh but shivered through my body as if I had been pierced with a sword.
She continued, “The cut is not deep, but it is fouled with dirt and likely to putrefy if it is not treated.”
I bowed my head in humble acknowledgment of her command and gratitude for the kindness she showed to me. I noticed that she kept her eyes lowered so as not to look into mine, and that her hand holding my hand trembled ever so slightly.
“Father Reuven,” said Mosiah sharply. “Why do you call him that?”
Eliza gazed at Mosiah in astonishment. “Do you speak, Enforcer, even though no one spoke to you? We must have been in danger, to have so loosened your tongue! But, you are right.” Her cheeks flushed prettily and she glanced up at me from beneath her long eyelashes. “We should say ‘Lord Father’ now that Reuven has been raised in rank. You must pardon us, Lord Father,” she added gravely, “for this promotion was so newly done that we are not yet accustomed to the new title.”
My hand signed the words, “I owe it all to Your Gracious Majesty’s intercession on my behalf with Bishop Radisovik.”
She gave me a cool, slight smile with her lips and a sparkling, pleased smile with her eyes. She understood me! She understood the sign language, as if we had been speaking it for years, not for only a few hours to pass the time in the air car. And I had known before I signed that she would understand me.
I only wished I understood myself! Who was this Bishop Radisovik I had mentioned? The only Radisovik I knew of was with King Garald back on Earth. Some part of me was cognizant of what I was saying, some part of me had guided my hand to sign the words. If I looked deep into myself, I was certain I would see and understand.
Coward that I was, I turned my face away. I wasn’t ready to know the truth. Not yet.
Half turning his body, his motions concealed by his black robes, Mosiah mouthed the words, “Do you know what is going on?”
Slowly, I shook my head.
Scylla looked to the blue sky, that was barely visible beneath the oak trees. “It is midmorning, the time set for the rendezvous. We should make our way to the meeting place without further delay. Centaurs still roam this forest, or so I have heard. First, though”—her gaze went to Mosiah—”we should make certain that we are not being followed.”
Mosiah turned to me and held out his black-robed arm.
“Open the Conduit. Give me Life, Catalyst,” he commanded, his tone mocking, as if he would have added, Now we’ll see this charade come to an end!
I wanted to run. Nothing I had yet encountered, not even the Technomancers, had frightened me as much as this command. It was not the fear that I couldn’t grant Life that daunted me. It was the knowledge that I could do it which made me want to flee in panic.
I would have run, I think, if Eliza’s eyes had not been on me. She was watching me with pride and affection. I stretched out a trembling hand and grasped Mosiah’s arm. I stepped back and allowed the other Reuven to move forward.
“Almin,” he prayed with my thoughts, “grant me Life.”
The Conduit opened. The magic of Thimhallan flowed through me.
I felt the Life thrumming beneath my feet, swelling up from the living organisms underground. I was aware of the roots of the oak trees digging